His Name is Marco
by deadtodd
Summary: It's just as big as he is, misshapen as if someone sliced off a good chunk of it's body but there are still jagged points left behind. Everything is suddenly brighter, a white glare of solid light, illuminating the monstrosity.


**A/N:** _So I saw this post a while ago in the JeanMarco tag and, well, sometimes I'll go into people's askboxes and send them anonymous fills for AU posts. But this one sort of got out of hand and took on a life of it's own. You can find the post here, but basically the OP wanted something more gritty than what I'm assuming is the average take on the whole ghost!Marco thing(which I find a little amusing because before I started this, I'd been drafting a much lighter ghost!Marco piece). I don't intend for this to exceed three or four chapters, but hopefully, you guys are patient with me and enjoy it. Thanks for reading! (-You can find the link to the post in the mirror to this fic on my AO3 account.)_

**Chapter 1 - The Beginning**

Jean has always been a little… _special_. That's what his mother called it anyways, before patting him on his head and sending him outside to play while she socialized with the other ladies in their neighborhood - socializing being sucking down cranberry vodka iced teas. It wasn't really that big of a deal after a while. He got smarter and stopped talking about seeing dead people. And she stopped taking him to therapy.

So, Jean could deal with seeing a few ghosts here and there. It wasn't even like they were malevolent. He used to get in more trouble when he sat and talked to them, specifically his uncle who passed away a good five years ago and liked to complain about anything and everything. He didn't really like him but at least he believed him. Plus, he thought his mom's new boyfriend was a prick and liked to say so; Jean liked that a lot.

It had been a good few years since Jean had last attended therapy and a few weeks since he'd seen anything less than alive. Even his uncle had taken a sabbatical and he enjoyed the peace. He figured that his sessions were finally kicking in, or something like that. He didn't exactly dwell on it. In fact, he didn't even notice it until Connie brought it to his attention.

"So, Sasha's cat died last week. Think you can, y'know, ask it some stuff so she can get some peace or something? Like a final farewell."

Jean just stared at him for a long time. "I'm not Eddie Murphy, you asshole. I can't talk to animals." When Connie shrugged and tried not to laugh, Jean felt the need to add, "Besides, I think I lost my mojo."

"Implying you ever had any. _Oooh_!" It wasn't the first time that Jean wondered why he hung out with him.

Anyways, if Jean paid as much attention to his spiritual surroundings or what-the-fuck-ever, he'd have noticed the recent chill ebbing into his neighborhood. There were signs for this type of thing. He wouldn't realize that until later.

With a really bad track record in regards to remaining asleep, Jean doesn't really think much of waking up around one in the morning. He can't ever remember exactly what he was dreaming about, but lately, he feels like it's better that he doesn't. Tiptoeing downstairs to make a few tuna sandwiches and a glass of diet orange soda, Jean pauses in the living room because he swears he sees someone staring at him. Unfazed, he just blinks until the soft glowing fades, and continues on to his room.

That's never actually happened before and he's tempted to go back and make sure he isn't just tired.

He isn't disgusted with his drink selection until after he's finished his second sandwich and managed to pull up what he's hoping is a decent video of two chicks going at it. One that doesn't have shitty angling and girls that uncomfortably remind him of his school's locker room, and he's determined to believe he's only slightly hard because of sheer willpower.

Fisting his dick and swallowing down orange soda with the worst fucking aftertaste of all time isn't exactly the best way to spend the night before school, but he can deal. He never actually got to enjoy alone time too often with his uncle looming around anyways. It was nice, even if he was a little frantic and kept checking over his shoulder. He could swear that he heard raspy breathing, but nothing was there when he looked.

Jean is a sensitive punkass who decides that getting off once is more than enough attention for his dick, and soon decides that his time would be spent better playing single player games. It's no fun when he can't scream into his mic for his teammates to get their fucking acts together. After a particularly pleasing gaming session, he decides to turn in for the night. When he dreams, the shimmer of a dull set of eyes is a constant and he swears he's seen them before.

About half a week later, Jean sees his uncle looking particularly upset - which was saying a lot, considering the man was a year-round grinch. The guy is a total creep now, staring at Jean and following him mutely. Needless to say, once he realized that his uncle - with his sickly green skin tone and intense stare - wasn't going to leave him to shower in peace, Jean quickly settled for a deodorant bath. He's never seen him like that, and would prefer him gone if he was going to keep it up.

Of course, Connie is no help at all.

"Dude, you didn't shower? No wonder you smell so rank." Connie pinches his nose and sticks his tongue out as far as he can, mock gagging. When Jean punches him in the ribcage, he decides against his next joke, laughing and hiding behind his hands instead.

Jean huffs and rolls his eyes. He doesn't even want his chicken fingers anymore. "Would you be _serious_? For like two minutes. I know it's a chore, actually using your brain, but just. _Please_." Desperate is the word because he hates asking Connie for help with shit. It's not the first time he wished Sasha would ditch her fourth period and spend lunch with them.

Connie, coughing out a few more snickers, finally caves and shows that he isn't a total dick friend. "Look, he's a dead guy that apparently only you can see. I mean, for all we know, you could be a total crazy in disguise. It's not like him watching you play with your baby prick in the shower is all that big of a deal." He effectively dodges Jean's next punch. "Seriously though. You're thinking too hard about this. Close your eyes and ignore it next time."

Sighing and slouching down a bit, Jean runs a hand through his hair. He doesn't bother telling Connie that, that isn't the only thing that's wrong. Mostly because even if Connie tries to help, it won't do much good considering Jean doesn't know how to explain just how eerie it felt. He gets the feeling that, _he was acting all weird though_, won't actually pass as an explanation.

Not really having much of a choice, Jean winds up taking Connie's advice anyways. At least, he would have if his uncle had actually showed up. He preferred the peeper when faced with the choice of that or the sounds of muffled whimpering and sniffling.

Jean doesn't quite know what to make of that, and for the first time, in a long time, he had difficulty actually _falling_ asleep.

The next morning is _odd_. His town is featured on the county news - some sort of freak weather phenomenon that's making it snow on and off. It's the middle of October and the surrounding cities and towns are in the sixties and seventies. It sucks, but he still has to go to school because snow is nothing new. It's just weird to have it before Thanksgiving.

When he leaves out that morning, however, there's someone staring down at him from his bedroom window and he doesn't know who the fuck that is. Just, he looks like fucking Two-Face and Jean never wants to meet that ghost because he's fucking creepy looking. He actually stays after school to help Sasha out with her pep rally posters and by the time they finish up, it's dark and that morning has been forgotten and life feels fairly normal again.

It's not long before Halloween shit is everywhere and he's all dressed up for his mother's party the night before the big day. Of course, it's all easy access to the good stuff and he's sure to remind some people from his school. If they aren't there for that, they're looming around because Sasha always has good weed and Jean makes sure that everyone knows that his bedroom is a total hotbox. So, it's him, Sasha, Connie, and Mikasa - who brought her friends, Jeager and Arlert. Then there's Annie with two of her huge friends, but whatever because _senior_s are hanging out with him. He mostly only wanted to invite Mikasa but he figures her friends are harmless - even though Eren likes to be a fucking chief.

When the party ends, Jean doesn't get the once in a lifetime, best kiss ever from Mikasa, but he does work up the nerve to ask her to see a movie with him. And she agrees, _after_ saying Eren really wanted to see the sequel to Hell Walkers, but Jean can deal with a tag along. Anything to spend time with his dream girl. He feels good, and everything is nice. Sasha fell asleep in the guest room instead of on his bed, and Connie is draped upside down across his living room couch with a handheld first person shooter game.

His mother probably retired hours ago which means he's free to raid the fridge for whatever he wants - nag free. By the time he finishes reheating leftover sloppy Joe, cutting himself two huge slices of pumpkin pie, and taking advantage of the fact that he can add as much sugar as he wants to his Kool Aid, he finds Connie knocked out - game flickering on the floor. He yawns himself and uses his shoulder to shrug the light switch to off.

That's when the chill first runs down his spine.

The house is unusually quiet, a complete lapse in snoring or movement of any kind - something Sasha was pretty much famous for. It causes him pause in his movements, eyes narrowing as he stares out blindly. He doesn't exactly hear the air conditioner start up, but he feels it. It's unnaturally cold, like someone opened all the doors and windows at once.

And there's something twisting at his stomach, making him nervous. All of his senses tell him to run, but he stands his ground. Or rather, he stands there like an idiot, waiting to see if the feeling passes. Instead, he hears a soft hissing sound and a foul odor wafts through the air, not only attacking his nose but forcing tears to well up in his eyes. He blinks them away.

"Connie? Man, what the hell, you stink." But Jean has never smelled a fart like this, and the closest thing he can compare it to is burnt hair and the perm he got in third grade. It makes his stomach lurch and he probably should have left then and there but Connie doesn't snort and giggle, nor does he shift as if he was sleeping and Jean has to step forward.

He's never been the bravest guy around, preferring to play it safe whenever he got a truly bad feeling about something. He's never had anything to really fear in his own home, and so, ignoring his gut instinct comes easy to him. Jean doesn't bother messing around with the light switch again, his arms are full and he still has the soft light from the kitchen and the flickering handheld game to use at his disposal.

Dread fills him to the brim as he continues forward, and he speaks to himself logically. _What the hell are you afraid of, idiot? It's just Connie_. The hardwood floor is like ice against his bare feet - it's never felt this cold - and when he reaches the back of the couch, he has to blink until Connie's shape comes into focus.

"Connie." Jean speaks loud and clear, more confidently than he could possibly feel, and there's still no movement. He swallows the lump in his throat. "Man, come on, I have the perfect balance going on here," he grumbles as he sets a plates down on what he knows is the small table near the sofa. "Connie," he calls again, louder this time.

No movement.

He reaches out and grabs what he thinks is Connie's shoulder only it's wet and… feels weirdly shapen. Mushy and there's something hard there and suddenly his hand is burning. A searing hot pain and before he can react, yell and shove his hand between its thighs and then wave it in the air until the burning stops, he hears a gurgled moan.

He watches the figure - there's no fucking way that's Connie, it's too big - rise from the couch, bits of something dropping from where it's shoulder should be. It's just as big as he is, misshapen as if someone sliced off a good chunk of it's body but there are still jagged points left behind. Everything is suddenly brighter, a white glare of solid light, illuminating the monstrosity.

His eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted open in disbelief. The pain in his hand is all but forgotten because he's literally watching clumps of flesh bubble and boil away from bone and even that is beginning to hiss away - eroding into nothingness. Just red and pink mottled and bloody remains.

It's only seconds but that's all it takes for Jean to completely absorb it's appearance. A guy, he's missing the entire right side of his upper body and Jean swears he sees intestines when it reaches forward. Reaches for him.

Jean screams and doesn't stop.

After that, everything is a blur of action. Lights are being slapped on, he's being stared at by Sasha and his mother. Then he's being shaken and his hand is being grabbed and put on display. His mother is crying, Sasha is freaking out, and the guy, whatever, he isn't there anymore - disappearing as soon as he first averted his gaze. They're halfway to the hospital before anyone notices Connie is surprisingly absent from the car but it's okay. His mother trusts him to keep the house safe.

Two days later, there's a missing person case being covered by the local news station and Connie's parents are crying their eyes out. Meanwhile, Jean is so doped up on painkillers that the elephants on the hospital walls are trying to coax him into dancing with him on his way out. He vaguely remembers asking officer Hannes if he had any extra donuts earlier in the day, and giggling when they asked if he'd seen Connie.

"That guy really knows how to let 'em rip! Hey, have you guys seen him? He's always around when Sasha's here… Dorks should jusss'... date already." He yawns and licks his lips and everything gets all foggy again. Sometimes he'd wake up just to stare at the tiny craters and bubbles on his fingertips - after he'd bitten his way through the bandages. It took him doing that twice to realize that it didn't feel good. In fact, it hurt a lot and made his heart race.

He'd always imagined enjoying a get out of school free card and the feeling of his mother doting on him hand and foot, but all he felt was dread. The staff from his local hospital had been shockingly absent - why the hell wasn't anyone covering that, it was a huge deal - and they had to drive three hours away to the next biggest city. Now, as his surroundings once again became more real, more familiar, he felt anxious.

Jean didn't want to return to that house. He didn't want to go anywhere near it, instead opting to stall by begging to go anywhere else and when that didn't work, he whined until his mother at least agreed to take him out to eat.

Survey was one of his favorite diners, and thanks to Eren working there on the weekends, they'd started offering discounts to students. He didn't feel the usual thrill of excitement when the pretty waitress Petra swayed over and smiled at him and his mother. He just felt like he should be staring over his shoulder. Something was - no, someone - was watching him, forcing him into discomfort. Whenever he looked, there was nothing there.

"You okay, Jean? I heard about what happened to Connie..."

His head snapped forward and he smiled weakly up at Petra, the influence of his medication waning enough for him to actively follow a conversation. It'd taken his mother telling him three times for it to finally sink in that no one had seen his friend since they'd left for the hospital. "Yeah, I'm good. Connie is probably off hanging out somewhere." _Bullshit_.

She just smiles back and takes down their orders. When they finally get their food, Jean manages to make eating a burger and fries take two hours until his mother gets fed up and asks for a to go tray. Flustered, Jean dismisses the request - not wanting to raise a fuss - and finishes his remaining bit of food in a couple of bites. He doesn't know how he manages to stomach it when he feels so close to vomiting all over his lap.

They sit waiting in the car for a while before Jean realizes that they haven't moved. His mother is staring intently at him, struggling with something, obviously, before she finally mutters, "Jean… I know you're worried about Connie." She pauses to take a deep breath and cup his good hand in her own. "But avoiding home isn't going to bring him back any sooner. It's all going to be okay, dear."

He's being pulled into a tight hug and despite the gear shift digging into his rib cage, it still feels good. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes, but he takes her words to heart even if they didn't exactly apply to the dread he feels when confronted with the fact that he's returning home. It's all going to be okay…

Until he sees that fleshy, half dissolved figure leering at him in the car door mirror, his working eye narrowed and the bit of lips that remained on his face ugly and twisted down in a frown. Clearer and brighter beneath the light from the cloud blocked sun, he sees a splash of freckles and charred bone beside it. Abrasions lined his forehead, half of his eyebrow gone and pus covered yellow skin left in it's place.

This time, Jean vomits on his lap.


End file.
